


Coping Mechanisms; or how to displease the entity without even trying

by LastHarlequin



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: "Friendship" of a stripe, Ace is too confident for his own good, Dwight's weird time gets Dwearder., Entity displeased, F-you to god, Gen, Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced Torture, It's gonna be All-Dwight, Kate teaches a new song to Anna, Moonwalking for peace, Moonwalking to War, No Dwight won't be in all of them, Photography, Teacher/Student, The Doctor gives an exam, invasive questions, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastHarlequin/pseuds/LastHarlequin
Summary: The entity is a vast, ineffable thing. It respects the rules it, itself, created. Even if its agents don't. a musing on what one might do as a denizen that gets... bored. Tired perhaps, of the same cycle of violence. Even the most hardened killers, and the most canny survivors, will eventually crave some variety, will they not?
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	1. Scrapbook

The darkness and quiet were always oppressive, here beneath the thick twisted old trees of this mining complex, in the shadow of the ancient ironworks itself. Dwight Fairfield was a hard worker, or so he told himself He like to believe it. He knew he wasn’t the bravest soul, or the toughest, or the most clever. But when people let him, he knew he could lead. Even if the rest of those qualifications meant many people didn’t treat him well. Wrist deep in a generator the actions were familiar to him now. Countless hours spent quietly working on the endless recombination of pieces and parts. The fog hung heavy, swirling and drafting flowing this way and that, with and against the gentle breeze that carried the sharp smell of hot metal and wet earth. He tried to keep his eyes and wits about him. It was easy to get into the rhythm of the work and tune out the outside world, but that would be a potentially painful and deadly mistake. He didn’t like to remember how many times he’d died with those cold, chitinous spike-legs jammed through important parts of his anatomy. The mere thought made his hands shake so badly for a moment that he pulled them back from the generator not trusting himself to not make a potentially dangerous mistake. 

After looking down at his hands to make them stop shaking he looked up to the generator and found something strange. A picture, like an old polaroid, resting beneath a small stone on top of the generator. He slowly looked around. A picture appearing from nowhere was not the strangest thing he’d seen out here in the fog. But it was different. And different was rarely good. He gently took the picture and lifted the rock to pick it up and turn it over. What he found made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

It was a picture of himself. The image was a glossy of someone who was definitely him, with his head shaven and a fairly nice beard wrapped around his jaw. He was gently wrapping gauze around a woman’s arm, the gentleness of the image spoke to him, even though he couldn’t see the woman’s face. He took the picture in both hands. He could read his own face, the surety, the readiness, and poise. 

This was a picture of him like he wanted to be. He absently raised a hand to run it through his wild shock of black hair that stood up at wild angles from his head then down over his smooth shaven chin. He took the photo and slipped it back to slide it into the back pocket of his pants turning back toward the generator. He felt the fingers slip into his back pocket taking the picture, jumped up, starting to run even as the gentle sound of leather rubbing against leather echoed in his ears and something grabbed a fistfull of his shirt jerking him backward and clear off his feet. Sprawled in the dirt he looked up and screamed at the black clad nightmare, his eerie white face framed against the blackness around them, the flickering of the generator lights seemed to gather on the smooth material. However as Dwight squeezed his eyes shut and held up his hands to try vainly to stop whatever weapon this demon had to swing at him, there was a moment of shocked silence before he opened his eye to look up. As soon as he did he was blinded by an incredibly bright flash and the sound of some kind of mechanism. A… camera?

The ghost faced… monster, shrouded in darkness gently waved a polaroid the camera held gently but firmly in his off hand as he gently shook out the picture in the air, casual as anything, Dwight’s heart was pounding in his ear, he couldn’t hear anything beside. The figure let out a very soft, but quite cruelly mocking chuckle as he held out the picture. Fwight reached up with trembling hands to take the photograph, turning it over to look at it from his place in the dirt he saw how pathetic he looked cringing in the dirt. It was so ridiculous he almost laughed himself. The demon stepped up and plucked the photo from his hand with an exaggerated motion and tucked it into a pocket… somewhere in his getup. Then Dwight’s eyes landed on the long sheathed knife on the demon’s hip. This wasn’t a survivor… no this was a killer like so many others. Quiet as the grave, the ghostface’s hand slid down to the knife on his thigh and drew a few inches of mirror-like steel out, showing how the keen edge caught the light. Dwight pulled back slowly as the knife drew until there was only a tip remaining to be revealed. Then slid it right back away with an almost mocking quickness and a wiggle of the fingers, flicking one finger against the handle of the knife with cartoonish flourish. Then the hand shot out toward him and he screamed again recoiling until he saw the hand in offering and another chuckle.

Taking the killer’s wet, somewhat sticky hand he stood up, discreetly rubbing his hand on his pants. The killer turned and started walking away, glancing back at the generator he was almost tempted to just go back to work until he saw the way the killer paused one finger touching the handle of his knife, flicking it consideringly. Dwight, wisely perhaps, decided to follow the taller man at a discrete distance of “just out of stabbing range”. As they walked Dwight followed quietly, though he continuously looked over his shoulder expecting the sound of a generator starting somewhere in the dark, but after several minutes he had to assume it wasn’t ever going to. So he just followed as they wound their way through the iron works traveling past the door that Dwight knew would lead to the basement. Taking him upstairs and upstairs to the control culpa, then pulled down a ladder. A ladder Dwight couldn’t remember ever having been there before. He’d gotten pretty good at hiding despite being a bit of a beanpole. 

“It’s not always here.” the voice made Dwight jump and made a small sound of shock.

“Huh?” he said having been so startled he didn’t even hear what was said. The killer paused, turning his mask, Dwight could feel a certain threatening energy emanating as the voice returned slowly, drawing out each word and syllable.

“It. Is. Not. Always. Here.” and Dwight realizes that it is not threatening energy he is feeling, but from the tone, it is condescending, smug bemusement. Dwight swallows audibly and hides his embarrassment as the ghost faced killer climbs the rusted looking ladder with deceptive nimbleness. The man pauses at the top as Dwight takes it a little slower he can feel the metal buckle with each step and it unsettles him. 

By the time he reaches the top the killer’s foot is tapping quietly. He stands up to his slouchy height and after a moment the ghost face walks them to a small building seemingly built onto the roof just above the height of the trees the fog lingers in the air however, curling and sliding across the corrugated metal. Actually on second thought, this would be a terrible place to hide, every step makes a terrible racket. The little shack opens up with a jerk of the killer’s arm and a tiny grunt of effort, he steps inside and with a glance over his shoulder pulls the door closed. Dwight walks around on the gentle slope of the roof a little looking down into the trees but what really catches his eye is the space above. The sky is so clear, so absolutely deep with stars, hundreds of thousands, the galaxy sweeping out before his eyes as it twinkles with unlimited depth. 

However he doesn't see any familiar constellations. He’s not sure why he expected to, this definitely isn’t earth after all. Earth has limits, people die when they’re killed on earth. Here they just wake up again and again. Still, the stars were so beautiful. The colors and shapes in the fathomless void above. He took the glasses off his face and carefully sought a clean spot on his shirt to wipe them off, eventually finding just enough to remove the worst of the smudges. He sat down on the roof then to the gentle sound of the killer rummaging around in his little hideaway. A minute or so later he pushes back open the door and pushes it closed. 

Dwight springs to his feet, only to be surprised again when the killer sits down on the roof next to where he had been. Photo albums under his arm which he carefully laid down, then looked up at Dwight who after a moment’s consideration also sat back down. This was simply too surreal to be a trap at this point. He was nervous though. 

This man was a killer, that much he was certain about. He’d been killed by him before, though his mask had been red and horned it was the right shape. The killer delicately pulled open the album. Inside was people Dwight recognized. Meg silhouetted against moonlight standing on top of a hill. Claudette picking through bushes with a look of intense concentration. Ace sitting on the porch of a small cabin Dwight recalled occupied the scrapyard. So many… the album was stuffed, often with more pictures behind each picture that weren’t being shown. Dwight leaned a little closer.

“Wow.” he said in a bare whisper and it was the killer’s turn to twitch just slightly, only a hesitation. 

“Oh, you can talk.” he said with a tone of mild disbelief. Dwight frowned but kept his tongue in check on this.

“These are really good.” Dwight says softly. The killer scoffs quietly behind the mask.

“Of course I am. I’m a professional.” He said succinctly. Each page was filled with different images, eventually it wasn’t just survivor candid shots, some of it was action shots clearly taken in the middle of a chase. That he had stopped to take photos was very strange indeed but Dwight decided not to question it. It was interesting nonetheless. They fell into an easy rythme looking through pictures, Dwight making occasional noises or comments at particularly stark or sharp images. While he seemed to favor taking candid pictures of people some of the shots were landscapes or composed pictures. An entire page was devoted to sacrificial hooks. Even in a picture Dwight felt his skin crawl, they drew something forward in his mind.

“Isn’t…. It going to get… mad?” he asked delicately, the killer paused and tapped a thumb thoughtfully a few times.

“Yes. It’s going to be… displeased. But I don’t think I have to tell you a body can get used to anything if it happens enough times.” The killer said with a barely restrained anger.

“Good to remind it, just because it’s god doesn’t mean it deserves worship. Afterall, I’m not a nice man.” He finished and turned a page with a bit of force, one of the packed-behind photos slipped out. And for just a moment Dwight saw what looked terribly like someone’s face covered in red with a familiar, ghostly white mask with a light aerosol of blood beside it. Like a man holding up a trophy fish. A black lined finger gently reached up and tucked the photo back without a word and Dwight swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Oh.” Dwight couldn’t think of anything much more cogent to say so he sat for many more minutes poring over photos in a companionable quiet. Once the last album was closed and set aside. They sat on the roof.

“So…” Dwight started and then stopped his heart rate picking up as it dawned upon him that the question he was about to ask might have a fairly ghoulish answer.

“Go finish the generators and get out of here. I’m taking this trial off.” the man said laying back, arms behind his head and kicking one leg across the other.

Dwight nearly jumped to his feet and tried to quietly make his way out as the ghost faced killer chuckled quietly.

“Stay frosty Dwight, this was a one time thing… probably.” the words wafting over as Dwight climbed out of sight and sprinted to the generator he had started with all eagerness, unaccountably finding a smile on his face, an expression that felt unfamiliar. 

As the massive gate pulled open and the ground shook he walked out, pausing to look back only a moment to the shrouded forest maybe things were gonna be all-Dwight.

This time at least.


	2. Smooth Criminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Dwight's strange time in the fog gets even stranger with the assistance of Ace and the Shape. Pop will never die.

Lery’s Memorial Institute. A Nightmare of a building. The layout was maze-like, constrained, and seemingly designed to startle and shock, making the quieter killers absolutely nightmarish to deal with. Dwight once again found himself performing a rote task, thankful for the thousandth time that the killer had not come his way, despite the screaming he had heard earlier. There was always screaming in Lery’s, from the horrid recordings in the treatment theatre to the CC-Tvs that seemed to be programmed to simply produce unsettling noises, He just kept his mind on his surroundings and his hands on his task. 

“Hey!” the whispered voice distracted him so badly he fumbled a wire and caused a tiny explosion and a scream beside. 

“ACE!” Dwight actually yelled out loud looking over at the older man in his baseball cap and three piece suit. 

“Quiet down, or boilerman might come this way.” Ace said as he slid up next to Dwight shoving his hands into the machine with a confident smirk on his face. Dwight reached back to his task sighing loudly. 

“Wait, boilerman? You mean the freak in the mask with the jump suit?” Dwight asked quietly.

“Mmm-yeah, that’s the one, sure thing.” he said with a head bob, his drawling accent.

“The one that peaks around walls and creeps around like a ghost?” Dwight asks his eyes looking around more vigorously. 

“Nah, the tall one that gets real mad and fast.” Dwight had to consider a minute, right, the ghost faced one existed.

“So like… where’s he been did you see him?” Dwight asks as he works. 

“Yeah, watched him having a staredown with the curly one, Denson? Yeah, Kate. that one. She slammed a stack on his head and moonwalked around the corner, as far as I can tell he just stood there after that. Shamed him I’d reckon.” Ace said as th eGenerator roared to life, the lights going from flickering to solid bathing them in light. Ace stood up and started sauntering along hands in pockets Dwight, out of an abundance of caution, followed the cocky old man. As they walked they heard someone awkwardly shuffling their feet around on the tile. Ace’s hands came out of his pockets and he crouched slightly quieting his footsteps, Dwight did the same, bringing his fingers up to his mouth reflexively scratching at the beginnings of a beard and mustache.

Ace poked his head around the corner and then jerked his head back. His face was wearing a confused and startled expression. He started to turn, thought better of it, started to turn again and looked over the counter of the ‘reception’ desk. He stared for a few seconds then pulled back staring into the middle distance behind his sunglasses.

“Huh.” was all he said, Dwight carefully crab-walked his way over to look for himself what had stumped the normally glib and unflappable man.

The vision of a six five giant with a terrifying fright mask foot long carving knife and blue boiler suit was staring at his shoes and attempting, what looked like for all the world, like he was trying to moonwalk. Actual, honest to Jackson, moonwalking attempts. Only he clearly didn’t really know what he was doing. 

“What the f~” Dwight started muttering under his breath only for Ace to stand up.

“Hey, Big Guy!” Ace said and the giant’s head snapped to him in an instant, the full weight of his terrible attention was stifling. 

“Ace! What! Are! You! Doing!?” Dwight asked, desperately pulling at the man’s sleeve who nimble jerked it out of his grip.

“Trying to do this?” Ace took a few steps back, cocked his feet, mimed grabbing a fedora and smoothly moonwalked through reception, spun 540 degrees and moonwalked back, looking up with a confident smile. The Shape’s attention had moved from his confident face to his feet, head tilted just slightly in deep consideration. 

“Take that for a yes, not much of a talker, huh? Alright here, watch carefully… Ol’ Ace’ll teach you a thing.” He moved his feet, cocked one wing tip, pressing firmly down.

“Put yer weight over the raised foot, you try.” to see the shape turn slightly and mirror the move.

“Good! Now slide the other foot, this is the tricky part, keep your weight on the planted foot. He smoothly slid the other shiny shoe backward. Pausing as he took the full step behind looking back to the Shape who jerkily and noisily slid his boot backward. Ace brought his foot forward and slid it again. 

“Again, get it smooth, don’ let the grip o’ them shit-kickers mess up the motion or it won’t look right!” he said and slid it a few more times to demonstrate. The shape mimicked the motion, carefully watching the smaller man’s shoes until the motion was like he’d greased his heels. 

“Gooooo~d. Now. The transition.” Ace flattened one foot and cocked the other sliding the foot back in one motion. Then he paused and did it again as slow as he could. The giant looked back down at his own boots and jerily made the motion almost tripping over his own feet as he tried, he recovered quickly and did it again. After a few minutes and the distant sound of a generator going live that didn’t get more than a flicker of attention from the giant the lesson continued. Dwight stood mouth hanging open as he watched the lessons separated only by a counter from a man who had more than once shoved a knife through his heart. Unable to look away.

“Perfect. Quick study this guy.” Ace said, drawing attention to Dwight who shook his head and waved his arms as the giant slowly looked toward him with terrible malice until Ace pulled it back.

“Alright! Now put it together!” Ace cocked his arms out and smoothly moonwalked his way across the space, did a spin and added downward facing jazz hands for good measure, then threw a pair of finger guns at the shape who turned, cocked one boot up and. In a move that defies explanation, perfectly executed in a way that would satisfy even the king of pop, ending with a dramatic freeze, and looking over to Ace who flashed him a winning smile and two thumbs up. In a moment of bravado he stepped up and vaulted the counter nimbly and reached up to pat the giant on the shoulder. 

“Good work big ma~” He never even saw the knife, it moved so fast. It dove in stabbing him clear through the middle the tip of the knife poking out his back. The giant pulled the knife back and looked down at the cussing and groaning man laying in a quickly growing pool of his own blood. Slowly the mask turned toward Dwight who understood instantly and bolted down the corridor with the steady thump of boots in pursuit.

Several minutes later Dwight held the exit gate lever down as a horn blew and the gate started to open, Ace slung over one shoulder taking quick sharp breaths.

“You… you know… I don’.... Don’ think that boy…. Knows how to say… thank you….” He gasped out haltingly.

“I think that’s a safe bet, Ace. Alright. Let’s get out of here…” he said half-dragging the man toward the darkness beyond. He turned his head back just to check, out of an abundance of caution you see, and spotted distantly a Shape moonwalking across the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ace I think you're probably right. but good deeds never go unpunished.
> 
> Beware the Moonwalker.
> 
> That said, characters will change chapter to chapter, I can't even promise you Dwight in all of them, but he's such a useful wuss, can be trusted to follow instructions and be a curious little kitten.


	3. Squirrels and Songbirds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Huntress is a predator, more than a wolf, more than a man, but a song lives in her heart, one of her Prey has a song too.

The gentle rain of the forest pattered against everything, dulling the scents of fear and blood, cooling the air and chilling her flushed skin, the hunt was to begin again. The Great Mother desired gifts and to give them was a blessing, Anna in her guise as Huntress daughter knew her place to feed Mother. Her song was easy to her, the only comfort of a difficult life. She sang it eagerly, not only for the comfort of the wordless tune, but for the challenge of prey that knew it was hunted. Her blood sang in the chase. She gripped her axe tight in anticipation and started to move, a laugh echoing through the trees only to be answered by something different. Not screams or scurrying movement, but something like…

Music, unlike her mother’s voice but music no less, drawn by the sound her own sung song quieted for the first. In its place a new voice rang out rich, firm and loud. Unafraid. Drawn immediately to the noise the Huntress’ feet found easy purchase in the tenacious grass of the forest floor. Loping like a great cat toward the sound, she found the source reclining on a wood pile under the eaves of her smoke house where she turned her catch to something more long lived.

The music interrupted for only a moment. The huntress could smell the terror radiating off this small brightly colored bit of prey, but yet after only a single sour note the music resumed. Anna let her head tilt listening to the way the sound echoed so faintly from the eaves and trees around them. Her mouth turned to a small smile. She stood towering over the tiny curly red-blonde girl. As the song continued the Huntress picked up the tune adding her voice to the backing. Slowly, other prey appeared. She had seen it before, like many creatures coming to fresh water. Only there was no food here for them, no water but what fell from the sky. Perhaps though, music was a food of a different type. Anna herself, and she paused in her song, rarely was she Anna in her own mind. 

This new song was already finding a way into her heart though. Like she had been starving her soul devoured it voraciously, an emptiness she didn’t know getting even a morsel. Realization striking her arm holding her axe let it swing to the side as she plopped down in the rain soaked grass. When food is found, eat, for you may not know when next you will be fed. Her voice raised again following the beat of the song right up until changed frustrated her, but enticed her. The variety was welcome though, some skittish part of her mind insisted. The song wrapped, then started again. The curly creature looking directly at her. The Huntress’ eyes swiveled down to the hands on the instrument. Thick body with strings. Watching the curly creature’s fingers dance was mesmerizing; she didn’t even really feel when she rolled forward to her knees and walked forward on them to get closer. The song faltered a moment but then resumed. This she could forgive, sudden movement startled her too. 

The girl’s hands were very fine. Not like Anna’s own. She reached out. The music stopped a moment to push her hand away. A voice husky and lower than the song spoke words she didn’t understand. Her head tilted back the other way, eyes narrowing and looking back up at the face of the curly girl. Pale green eyes lived in her face and her face was stern like mother, she resumed singing and the song changed. Anna’s ears twitched as she recognized it, it was her mother’s song! But, not. Anna’s head twisted as she heard new sounds built on top of the tune her mother would sing. Anna was conflicted. This new song was enticing like the last and the one before, but it made her chest hurt. She didn’t understand how it hurt, but it made her face hot to hear it. 

“Nyat!” Anna said sharply, her voice much deeper than the small girl. Her hand like a viper snatching the hand from the strings with a tight grip. The curly girl let out a little cry of pain and fought against the grip with her other hand letting the instrument lull, showing teeth. Anna showed teeth back. The curly girl pulled away her hand jumping back from where it had pulled at Anna’s. It was raised in pleading, Anna knew this pose, it was familiar. Anna tugged on the arm she held, all around her she heard the other prey scatter. 

But this curly one made no motion to run. She merely pointed at where her arm was held. Yes, the song that hurts must stop. This was the way to stop it. Then though the curly creature closed it’s fist and Anna prepared to scrap only to have the hand open slowly rather than come at her. Then again, then again. The small girl pointed at where her arm was held, still showing teeth, but it was not anger or threat in her face but fear. Teeth and fear like squirrel, not like wolf. 

Anna watched the motion repeat a few times, trying to understand. Then the hand slowly came toward Anna’s where she was held. Anna tightened her grip and the squirrel girl gasped but did not scratch or pull but gently pulled on the Huntress’ fingers. Anna loosened her grip, only a little and the girl sagged with a deep sigh. The Squirrel laid a hand on Anna’s hand and smiled, Anna could see the nervousness in the action. But it was true, and she did not try to run. Anna, after considering her choices smiled back, her lips curling up.

The girl slowly put her hand on her chest.

“Kate.” she said then pressed her hand to her chest again.

“Kate.” she insisted, and Anna considered.

“Cat.” Anna responded, though the word sounded different from her mouth than the Squirrel.

“Kate.” The girl insisted.

“Cat!” Anna agreed. Kate let out a small noise that sounded like it might be a laugh.

“Cat.” the Squirrel agreed, then looked at Anna expectantly and she hesitated, drawing back slightly. The girl leaned in just slightly and her eyes stayed locked uncomfortably on Anna’s own.

“Anna.” she said quietly, as though speaking it aloud would bring trouble upon her head.

“Anna.” the Squirrel spoke carefully. Then she smiled broadly before the sound of a Generator kicking on far away made Anna start badly, jumping backward and grasping for her axe. Kate’s arm raced out then and took hold of Anna’s arm. Her hands were soft but for the pads of her fingers. Anna looked down at the hand with a growl in her throat but a shushing noise brought her head back up to that intense eye contact that made Anna feel again like a child though she had grown so very large. 

The hand on her arm pulled her to stay. Anna was torn, the Hunt called, Mother called her to spill blood, she could feel the call in the back of her mind like chitinous black claws picking at her spine. She would be punished. It would hurt her terribly, that disappointment and displeasure. The Squirrel reached down and gently started to sing pulling her instrument back up to her lap. Anna let herself be pulled back to her knees and gently picked the song back up with her. 

She had survived displeasure before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something warm and fluffy for our feral axe maniac. Kate Denson everybody, music soothing a savage beast. I hope you enjoy this addition, Catch you in the Fog.


	4. Phrenology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Dwight has a very unusual encounter with The Doctor. He supposes after all the visits they'd had he'd want a Medical History eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor probably doesn't even have a degree. Not that it stops him. The weirdo. This Quiz really exists I was thinking about doing something long form to tell you more about Dwight but decided to keep it short instead, 159 questions plus numerous subquestions. It will give you a firm grasp on a character you're writing, I use it all the time.

Dwight carefully looked around the corner of the cold tile corridor, the pungent nauseating scent of fruitful mold punctuating the underlying scent of heavy metals clinging to the back of his throat like medicinal oil. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he kept toward the generator that would get him out of here at the end of it all. He hated Lery’s memorial institute. He had no idea what the place’s history was, but it was surely absolutely terrible.

Dwight found he’d always had something of an aversion to hospitals, though he could never really put a finger on why, and being chased by an electrified maniac through a run down overgrown hospital full of mysterious rooms stuffed with equally arcane equipment while being shocked into literal madness only solidified the feeling. So when he felt the static gather around him he was on his feet and running before he could even really think. The trial had only just begun and already the madman was after him. 

The feeling passed quickly though and he paused in hiding to look around to make sure he was not lurking. He returned to find the generator unmolested and resumed work only to nearly jump out of his skin and scream as the intercoms screeched and sprayed static for a moment before a distorted voice spoke sharply. The person’s throat sounded raw, unable to control its volume really and almost stuttering.

“All ssssssubjects… Please r-report to the treatment theat-ter... for a written asssssssssessment. Upon completion… yyyyyou will be allowed t-to leave... unm~olested. Those who dooo not comply will be…. c-Collected.” The voice spoke with a strange lilt but as it cut off with a thunk Dwight considered his options. On one hand, that could be a trap. Though, no killer had really bothered with that kind of trap before. It was not the strangest thing he’d ever heard. He ran a hand over his shaven head and considered before looking up from the generator.

He’d been ‘collected’ enough times to know how unpleasant and downright awful that was so he started making his way toward the center of the complex. He poked his head around the corner looking into the center of the theater where the tables had been rearranged to make room for a set of… school desks. Where they had come from was anyone’s guess. However there was already other occupants to the room in two of the seats were the blonde woman in the high rise jeans, if Dwight remembered correctly her name was…. Laurie… Yeah, Laurie Strode. The other was the doctor, not  _ That _ doctor but the young black one whose name he didn’t think he’d ever gotten. The last one in the room  _ was _ That Doctor. 

The massive slab of discolored man who smelled equal parts blood, charred flesh, heavy metal, blood, and antiseptic; all beneath the stink of Ozone. His weird electric hat sparked periodically and he stood not with his wicked metal spike stick but with a clipboard. Standing fully upright with one arm crossed onto his bicep. The other cradling his clipboard. 

“Sssss-subject, please b-be seated.” He said motioning with one shoulder toward the desks. Dwight walked over nodding to the others who nodded back with an aura of expectant nervousness about them. The Doctor pulled a mechanical watch from his pocket and popped it open with his free hand.

“Hmph…” Then walked away and up into the gantry to the culpa. 

“SubJ-ject, this is your f-final warrrrrrning! Report to the treatment t-theater or be colleeeeeeected!” The doctor insisted loudly into the microphone.

“This is really weird.” the young doctor said in a whisper, presumably to keep his voice from carrying up to the Doctor who was tapping his boot angrily up above looking down. 

“Yeah, but hey, not dying? I’ll take it.” Laurie said softly crossing her arms imperiously.

“Yeah. for sure. So um… I don’t know if I ever got your name… I’m uh, Dwight, Dwight Fairfield.” Dwight said leaning over in his desk while keeping one eye on the doctor above them as he stomped impatiently around the culpa.

“Adam. Nice to meet you Dwight.” the man said with an accent that Dwight couldn’t place.

There were several long moments of silence as the doctor walked back and started to come back down.

“So… um, are you a doctor?” Dwight asked Adam in the same quiet voice.

“No. Well, no I never finished a PhD. I was a Teacher, before.” Adam answered considering.

“Oh, that sounds cool~” Dwight said quickly as The Doctor came back into the room.

“Each offffff you will be given a sssssurvey. P-please answer truthfully t-to the best of your abiliiiity.” The Doctor said walked up to the desks, laying several pieces of paper on the desk with hand-written questions on them in very neat penmanship marred by occasional scribbles like the author’s hand had spasmed at a poor moment. Next to each he left a bic ballpoint pen, black. 

“I willllll return, you will be alllllowed to leave when all S-surveys have been c-completed.” The doctor insisted. As he stepped up to each desk the very air was charged with electricity. Making arcs jump painfully from the surfaces to the people sitting in them edges of the paper scorched by arcs from his charred hand.

Dwight flinched and jumped as arc after arc jumped to him making his skin crawl and every remaining hair on his body stand on end and tingle. Quickly though the psychopathic physician walked away retrieving a familiar metal rod from an operating table. Then he stalked out of the room with intent.

Dwight looked down at his paper. At the top of the first page were some pretty normal informationals… Height, age, weight, name, nation of origin, birth date. Then he got to the meat Question one: Describe yourself in three sentences? Well… that was a little telling, but he put pen to paper and started writing on automatic, trying to be succinct.

Question two: What is your greatest / most obvious strength. Dwight paused and read through more of the questions. This read like one part personality quiz, and one part medical history, one part resume. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but he supposed that The Doctor was a psychotic killing machine so what he did didn’t really have to make sense. 

He was in the middle of writing about his first camping trip with his uncle when the scream echoed through the room, it bounced off the walls, one part pain and one part terror, but he recognized the voice. Meg was out there. He sat with the pen in one hand considering abandoning the test to try to help but he looked to the others who were looking at him like he was the crazy one.

He hunched down toward the paper as the second scream echoed out. He had managed to write a whole sentence with his hand that was now shaking badly when the next scream was cut off abruptly. 

The three of them continued to quietly work on their increasingly esoteric quizzes. 

“Would I ever have sex with a non-human!? What kind of creeper question is that?!” Laurie asked and Dwight flipped ahead after looking over at her paper. 

“Well… he is a weirdo...” Dwight said softly to which Adam made a noncommittal noise. 

“I’m not answering that question.” Laurie declared and Dwight in principle agreed but didn’t want to give the very scary man a reason to renege on the deal so answered a succinct ‘no’. The air charged steadily as The Doctor’s heavy footfalls echoed off the walls. He walked into the room with Meg under his arm, her head was bleeding and her body was twitching spasmodically every few seconds, a feeling Dwight knew was at best painful. She was set into the fourth chair where it jumped and jittered as she twitched. Her eyes fitfully shut but rolling in her sleep. Mouth hanging open as her head lulled back. The Doctor placed a quiz and a pen on her desk then placed a hand firmly on her head.

The smell of Ozone and burnt hair was sharp as she seized and screamed before snapping awake and falling backwards still in the chair onto the ground.

“What!?” she gasped out as the Doctor stood over her.

“I T-told you… not to mmmmmake me collect you.” He said with his milky eyes locked on her full of terrible promise. 

“Meg.” Dwight said quietly. And she looked over her expression mixed shock and betrayal.

“Just fill out the questions…” The girl’s hands were shaking and her eyes still rolled wildly a bit. Her muscles spasming and twitching as her gaze jumped to unoccupied spaces with suspicion.

“My f-fucking heart!” Meg complained and the Doctor took a step forward.

“Are you exp-periencing cardiaaaaaac symptoms?” He asked reaching two fingers toward her neck.

“Don’t fucking touch me you freak!” then she turned positively green wrenched her head to the side and vomited weakly.

“Ugh… my head….” she moaned. The Doctor, with a complete lack of bedside manner and an inhuman demonstration of strength grabbed her chair and pulled it upright drawing another weak spot of vomit from Meg at the sudden motion. 

“Begin your questionnaire.” He demanded tapping the paper on the desk with an air of finality. Then in a strange show walked to a side basin and withdrew a small coffee mug which he filled with water from the tap and set it on her desk without a word. Meg took the cup and quickly washed her mouth out, spitting water on the floor. Dwight picked up his chair and scooted the desk away from Meg’s pile of sick. The chamber was once again relatively quiet as The Doctor patrolled back and forth like a professor from the college Dwight had attended. 

The Doctor would periodically pause and hover looking down at their tests reading intensely. Once standing over Adam he paused. 

“The A-answering of question O-One hundred and Ffffourty-nine is Not optional. Do not leave it blank.” Dwight’s head popped up. 

“You’re already on a hundred fourty nine?” He asked quietly looking over to be met with a shrug.

“Mmmmmmister F-fairfield. Iffff you have Quest-tions, please direct them to m-me.” The doctor intoned casually.

“Uh, sorry Doctor….” Dwight trailed off awkwardly realizing he could not see a nametag anywhere on the monstrous physician.

“Doctor H-herman Cart-ter.” The creature corrected.

“Herman?” Meg asked mockingly under her breath. By way of answer the doctor snapped his fingers which caused a shower of sparks and a sharp snap.

“Did you have a Q-question M-m-m-miss Thomas?” He asked with terrible intensity. There was a long moment of silence before Meg ducked her head back down toward the paper and kept writing. 

“...What the hell is a Gygax anyway…” Adam muttered, and the Doctor let out a soft bark of laughter. It was an unsettling sound to say the least.

“I’m living my worst nightmares…” Laurie said from the end of the line of desks. The Doctor turned his head toward her.

“Then desc-cribe your current exp-perienccccccccccccccccces.” He said as succinctly as he seemed capable of with his mini-strokes or whatever was happening to him. 

The Doctor slowly strolled over and looked down at her paper, seemingly having no trouble reading upside down.

“A longer S-short Term than leaving this f-facility p-please.” 

“Excuse me, Doctor Carter?” Adam said very softly, obvious hesitation in his voice that firmed as he spoke.

“Yes, Missssster Francis?” He said turning to face Adam more directly.

“May I ask clarification on this question?” He asked with a finger on the paper. “When you say Tolerant, is that in the sense that it is mitigated by overuse, or in the social sense?” Doctor Carter paused considering. 

“The Ssssocial sense, if you w-would.” He said politely. Then turned his attention from Adam back to Laurie before letting out a soft sigh and raising his head.

“Question E-eighty five p-point oooone is also non-optional. Even if you h-have no partnnner right now, that could ssssstill be I-ideal to you.” He said as Laurie muttered and turned back. Dwight checked his answer then quickly started writing as well.

“Heh, I think I’m learning something about myself with all this…” Dwight japed with a little chuckle, which prompted one from the Doctor. 

“Sssself-discovery is a rewaaarding P-process.” He said, prompting a pause from Adam. a few moments later the work resumed.

They labored in quiet until Adam put down his pen and folded his hands. Doctor Carter walked over, collected the paper and pen, putting it in the pocket of his lab-coat. Before too much longer Laurie put down her pen and Carter swept over to lift up her packet and flip through it carefully, setting it back down. 

“Please answer this quessstion, Miss Strode.” He said before stepping away again while Laurie muttered venomously. Dwight was nearing the end but slowed down watching Meg as she struggled to hold the pen and muttered to herself, scratching and rubbing at her skin as the blood matted her hair. 

“She will L-live, Mister F-fairfield.” The Doctor assured him icily. Dwight continued to work slowly but tried to keep his watching of Meg a little more discrete as the woman tugged out some of her hair without breaking her stride writing wise. Dwight finished the questionnaire well in advance of Meg then decided to check over his answers and, to his personal shock ended up changing some of the answers Being honest with the doctor didn’t really seem to be a good idea, but also there was something liberating about writing down his fears, it made them feel smaller somehow, more irrational. 

Meg seemed to be struggling though. He could hear her frustration though the Doctor seemed to pay it no mind. Laurie (finally finished) and Adam were looking more ancy all the time. Finally Doctor Carter spoke up. 

“Those who have finished their questionnaire may retire to the observation room until all the packets have been returned.” he said motioning them off with a hand as Dwight hesitantly set down his pen.

“Um…” he started and he felt the Doctor’s gaze on him before he looked up to meet his cataracts eyes that none-the-less seemed to look right through him.

“Maybe I should, um… could, take dictation? For Meg? If that’s alright…?” He asked in pieces looking over at the redhead who looked so much younger than him she looked up with some mix of fury and relief on her face.

“...Perhaps that I-is advisable. Miss Thomas?” Carter asked piercingly. 

“Ffffffucking whatever! Whatever! Sure! You fucking monster.” She said tapping her hand on the desk violently with each exclamation.

“Language, Miss Thom~” Doctor carter started only to be interrupted by Meg slamming her hand and jabbing the pen at him. 

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCk yOOOOOOOOOOOOOU!” she gasped out having used all her breath her face red and screwed up into a furious rictus. The doctor looked from her to Dwight.

“Right.” He said motioning Dwight toward Meg. He picked up his desk went to the other side of her as the doctor retreated with the finished packet to begin reading as he scooped up Dwight’s as well.

“Alright Meg, just talk and I’ll write it down for you.” Dwight said softly, and Meg made some kind of noise in her throat that sounded like an affirmation. He suddenly realized the questions he was going to have to ask later on and prepared himself, at least she was still early in the quiz so he could build up to it… still, the early questions were easy. Though they did paint something of a bleak picture. Absent father, sick mother, few friends, more enemies. 

He’d seen enough of her in the trials to know that nobody could match her on her feet. Surefooted as a cat, no question. He kept his commentary to himself and weathered her insults and accusations. He knew how it felt to be zapped up on whatever Doctor Carter did to make his shocks. She didn’t really mean it, or so he hoped. 

He didn’t really need her to pull out her clothes to poke at her scars when the questionnaire asked about them, he suspected she would be rather upset about flashing her underwear at him to show off the scar on her thigh if she were in her right mind. He was actually filling up with dread as he got the questions he’d been fearing. Not because she’d be mad at him but because she might answer wholeheartedly.

“When and with whom was your first kiss?” he asked slowly looking up at her as her face clouded over then hardened until her lips trembled with the effort of holding them together.

“N-never! It didn’t happen! Nobody!” practically spitting. He flinched away from her..

“Okay… next question then, um… what… what is your, uh, sexual preference?” he said deciding not to look up.

“I don’t know!” Meg said still incensed, it gave Dwight a moment’s pause before writing her answer down. The next few questions were easy enough, Meg’s sexual history seemed to be basically non-existent. He didn’t know if he felt sorry for her or happy for her, one less thing to miss in the fog by his measure.

“Hoboy… would you ever have sex with a non-human?” He asked and flinched back. The few beats of silence lead him to crack open an eye as Meg had an expression of deep, unsettled thought.

“....does that count….” she asked seemingly herself and Dwight waited several mindblowingly long seconds until Meg seemed to snap out of it and stutter out an answer.

“N-no! I wouldn’t!” and he scrawled it down for her immediately, thought the invasive questions only got weirder. By the end of the section Meg was redder than her hair braids she was tugging at compulsively. Dwight wished he was anywhere else but at least it was done. Knowing far more than he ever really wanted to about a girl younger than him’s sex life. Happily the rest of the questions were far less awful and invasive pushing on he got more confident as she seemed to settle back into the questions quickly enough.

“Okay, last page, um, have you ever been in a situation where you knew you were going to die?” 

“Every single trial.” She answered without hesitation. He paused. He’d mentally excepted the whole of his time in whatever extradimensional space this whole bad dream inside a bad dream.

“Gotta, gotta, gotta know you’re gonna die, die every time, every time.” she rambled, and he looked down at the last question.

“Um. If so, how did you feel afterwards?” He asked.

“I’ve literally never felt more alive in my entire life.” She answered without so much as a stutter, something shining behind her eyes. Dwight set down the pen after transcribing her answer. Doctor Carter appeared, lifting the packet with one hand resting on Dwight’s shoulder, the tingling and twitching brought about by the paradoxically chilled yet hot surface of the staticy wax-like flesh of the Doctor pressing into his shoulder and gripping with a death-like iron grasp.

“E-excellent! You may go.” He said, pouring over the papers without even raising an eye to Meg and Dwight who offered the former a hand to help her. “Let’s get out of here….” he said quietly as he led her to a generator to get the damned doors open. 

He had to hand it to this strange purgatory, every trial got a little Dweirder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Electro convulsive therapy helps some people greatly, but it is absolutely terrifying to me, having been shocked in my line of work. Needless to say, I hate facing Doctor Tickles.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that sprung from the way I play the game, for you see I'm Just Playing. I don't care about rank, score, or really anything else. I like spooking people, and I like having fun, so that's what I do. Why might not the killers feel the same way? More chapters as I think of them and feel like writing them. 
> 
> if you enjoyed it, let me know! Might see you in the fog some day...
> 
> Run, Hide, Pray ;)


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